


After School

by Gummystars



Category: Onward (2020)
Genre: Flashbacks because i like things tragic, Forced drugging (sorry Ian), Gen, Ian makes bad decisions, Kidnapping, Mistro Corpus (OC), Mythical drugs, OC's but they're there for plot reasons, barley is a good brother, some pre-movie 'ya'll gotta learn to get along'
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:22:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gummystars/pseuds/Gummystars
Summary: “Yes! Go forth and LEARN, young squire!” Ian just barely ducked out of a head pat on his way out and Barley laughed like it was some kind of friendly joke between brothers, “Alright, I’ll see YOU at two o’clock after school, and not a minute longer!”Ian is kidnapped, old memories surface and the Lightfoot brothers are forced to face the terrors of their modern world long before they would be called to conquer the concept of magic.
Comments: 35
Kudos: 75





	1. He Wants to be Left Alone

Today was not going to be Ian Lightfoot's day.

Actually, at this point in his life no day ever seemed to be Ian 'keep my head down and try not to be noticed' Lightfoot's ideal day. Obviously, he was in highschool, and so it was definitely impossible to avoid people, never mind avoiding people AND/OR a conflict of some kind. 

Even in his own small house of three - sometimes four if his Mom's boyfriend came over-, rubbing shoulders was unavoidable. 

But if the young elf had to choose between complications at school or between himself and his often overly dramatic brother who seemed to have a knack for making everything (and he meant EVERYTHING) worse, he would choose school complications any day.

Backing up a little...

It had only been this morning that he’d tried to get up, get ready, and slip out with as few bumps along the way as possible...but Barley would have no such thing.

“Good morrow, Sir Iandore of Lightfoot!” 

Ian cringed slightly when a heavy hand landed firmly on his shoulder, resisting the motion as he struggled to butter a piece of WONDER LOAF bread for his breakfast, “H-hey, Barley. I’m just getting ready for school; got a few...tests.”

It came out lamely, but he was kindly trying to hint that he felt like being left alone this morning.

But Barley the overlooking king, ignorant and sweet - only eighteen, treated hints like any of his senior projects and ignored them, “Ah, I SEE! Well then tell me dear brother, which subjects are you battling today?”

He released his grip on him and instead leaned on the counter to watch with rapt attention.

Ian sighed, knowing his exasperation would do nothing to deter Barley - he shouldn’t have mentioned the tests, for Freyr’s sake. Turning and reaching for the jam, he mumbled out, “It’s midterms. I have Algebra, Geology, and tomorrow is Histor...y.”

Oh, crud. He shouldn’t have said that, either.

He turned first to find that the bread he’d been preparing was now half-munched by his big brother, who’s eyes were positively shining with excitement as he bubbled out, “When was THIS? I told you I’d help with ANY kind of history stuff!”

Ian found himself suddenly more bitter about his lost breakfast than this conversation. He squinted when a spray of crumbs attacked his face, “Barley, Mom says don’t talk with your mouth full!” He snapped, knowing he’d at least listen to Mom.

“Right, right, but c’mon and tell me!” Barley swallowed, grinning genuinely, “Ah man, you should’ve let me know a few days ago, I could help you ACE that thing, Ian!”

“It’s...it's the first thing tomorrow.” Ian sighed in defeat, starting on fixing up a new piece, “But I’m doing great myself, so don’t even worry about it! ...Please?”

Barley scoffed outrageously loudly, “I. Think. NOT. Nay, I refuse to stand idly by while I could be assisting my brother on his test quests!”

“...you really could thou-”

“No way!” Barley tapped at his head obnoxiously, and he leaned away, “Tell you what I’m gonna do - by the time you get home after school today, I’M gonna have a whole study set prepared for you in the way of…” He drummed on his shorts, walking around the counter before gesturing at his table of figurines (toys, really) in excitement, “Dad-da-DA! Quests of Yore!”

Ian had lost his appetite, “But that’s…”

“Historically accurate? You know it! Little brother, in only a few hours tonight you are gonna know so much about...uh…” He fished through Ian’s backpack, sitting traitorously by the door, for a few seconds before pulling out a book, “The, uh - the History of the fourth Realm - that you’re not gonna know what to do with yourself! That’s a Barely promise, right there.”

No, no, no, no. Ian wanted to just scurry out and come back to study by himself tonight; it was too easy to recognize this as just a poorly disguised attempt by his brother to get him to play this stupid game. 

He cleared his throat, a big but fake smile stretching his face as his ears gently pulled back in agitation, “But, uh, Barley, don’t you have a thing with friends at like, six tonight?”

There, that should do it.

Barley merely shrugged, not picking up on his little brother’s feeling at all, “That’s like four hours at most if you get back home as soon as possible after school! No problem.”

Well, curse it all.

Noticing the time, Ian took a bite of his breakfast and hurried over to grab his backpack, “Okay, whatever, I gotta go.”

“Yes! Go forth and LEARN, young squire!” Ian just barely ducked out of a head pat on his way out and Barley laughed like it was some kind of friendly joke between brothers, “Alright, I’ll see YOU at two o’clock, and not a minute longer!”

“...Sure.” He sighed, picking up his pace to catch the bus.

Ian Lightfoot had to find a way out of this.

And that was why today he was going to make one of the worst decisions of his life.


	2. Everything is Fine

_Laurel smiled warmly as the youngest of hers wandered into the room, the six year old searching the living room with an unusual curiosity. It was getting close to his bedtime, a pair of pajamas haphazardly hugging his tiny form._

_“And what’s my little traveler up to now?” She asked, catching his attention._

_Ian glanced her way as he approached, “I-I’m looking for - mommy, help - “ He attempted to lift a cushion on the couch up and she scooted over, helping him with it, “- looking for the uh...the…”_

_He paused, confusion only lingering briefly as a young but husky voice whisper-shouted from the hallway, out of sight, “-The lost scrolls of Alvalek, Ian!”_

_“...that!” Ian squeaked happily, peering over his shoulder._

_Laurel couldn’t help but let a laugh bubble up, “Are you on a Barley quest?”_

_“Yes.” Ian was still smiling, but tried his hardest to sound serious, obviously excited about the game they were playing. Not quite as energetic as his older brother, the young elf still adored any game especially crafted for himself. He resumed his search with a more cryptic eye, moving over and pulling a book from the shelf he could reach and scanning the empty space._

_Barley cleared his throat, calling as discreetly as he could (which was not very, for a ten year old), “Ian, I think I saw that darn evil wizard drop those scrolls somewhere in the dining hall!”_

_“The kitchen!” Ian gasped, spinning on his heels and starting to head to the new destination._

_Laurel leaned down, “Hey, Ian?”_

_The kid paused quickly, turning back, “Yeah?”_

_She darted her eyes towards the hallway and back, saying quietly, “You know you have a pretty cool big brother, right?”_

_Ian’s eyes lit up as a goofy grin spilled across his face, whispering back,_

_“I’ve got the coolest brother in the whole, wide world.”_

\--------

Ian tapped his pencil incessantly against the paper on his desk, mind occupied still with his fate...an entire afternoon was bound to be wasted playing with Barley’s toys. An afternoon that COULD be spent studying or even then doing pretty much anything else he himself would find fun.  
It just seemed like...a waste. A disappointing waste.

But that was going to be an entire four hours. He couldn’t just duck out of school to somewhere other than home for four hours with no reasonable excuse or place to go. He wasn’t stupid; New Mushroomton was still full of people, people were unpredictable, he was only fourteen, and Mom would kill him. 

The bell rang and everyone around him began collecting their things.

He joined the rush, knowing that this was pretty much it. Barley would no doubt be here in Guinnevere within the next ten to fifteen minutes to pick him up.

And THAT in and of itself was...an unpleasant experience. 

Frustratingly enough, his Mom never seemed to understand his feelings towards his big brother, only staring at him in a weird kind of pity whenever he tried to explain it. That had deterred him pretty fast because he didn’t HATE Barley; he was still his brother, his family. He just wished the older elf could take a hint and leave him alone sometimes...and more times.

“Hey...Ian, right?” 

He was yanked out of his thoughts by the unfamiliar voice, head jerking to his side and then up to meet the eyes of a much taller elf with a dark purple complexion, ‘Oh...uh, yeah!”

The other kept his hand in his pockets, sporting a very relaxed punk aesthetic with his naturally black hair and dark wardrobe choice, “Okay, cool; I’m Mistro.”

Ian couldn’t help but notice several others following Mistro. They had to be late highschool kids...which raised the question of why they’d chosen to talk to him. His anxiety was already starting to spark, palms beginning to sweat as his head helpfully supplied worse case situations.

“H-hi...Mistro.” His voice broke briefly and he kind of wanted to die. 

Mistro had a pleasant smile on his face, though, “Hey, what’s with the nerves?” He gently nudged Ian, “Just wanted to ask if you wanted to come along with us this afternoon. We’re gonna kill time and have some fun chilling downtown. There’s an extra seat in my car, so I figured I’d extend the offer.”

Ian blinked hard a few times, his confusion increasing as he felt he’d missed something here, “We-well, I gotta...do I know...I mean, have we ever met?”

Gosh, would he ever figure out how to just talk normal to people? His stomach was flopping like a land-found fish and it refused to quit. Then again, it wasn’t every day that anyone approached HIM, Ian ‘Awkward’ Lightfoot, asking if he wanted to join in on anything.

“Oh, hell- sorry, yeah, no we haven’t really met...but we knew your brother before he finished highschool.” Mistro explained, waving a hand passively back at the others, who were also all returning a friendly expression.

Ian was beginning to feel soothed.

“He never really flew with us that often, but I figured a new Lightfoot might be fun to add to the mix. You wanna think about it? It’s cool if you can’t, too, we get it.”

“Yeah, dude, you’re fine if not.” A centaur piped up, his head tilting.

But a perfectly wonderful excuse had just thrown itself at Ian...and he couldn't help but wonder if the universe had finally taken pity on him because this felt TOO perfect. His hands had slunk anxiously under each other arm as he gave himself a kind of hug, mind reeling.

Barley wouldn’t be - couldn’t be upset if he accepted this. 

It would be stupid NOT to go...right?

“Hey, Earth to Ian!”

He shook himself from his deep thoughts, gritting his teeth with nerves when he noticed that the rest of the group had moved to casually stand around him since he’d suddenly taken to planting himself in the locker hallway, close to the exit.

“Y-yeah, I’d love to go! I mean, if you were being serious - but ah, but of-of course you were being serious, you asked!” He let out a strained chuckle.

Mistro only looked pleased, squinting a little, “Awesome, alright, come along! I’ll introduce you to everyone else.”

His hand landed on Ian’s back and before he knew it he was being guided out with a new crowd of hopefully soon-to-be-friends. They kept themselves mostly on his left side, completely blocking him from sight as they enthusiastically introduced themselves.

On the curb, Barley sat with his van, frowning in confusion at the empty walk leading to himself.


	3. Everything Still Might be Fine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Thank you so much for the positive response. This has been a blast so far to write, so please enjoy and let me know what you think!

_Ian wasn’t acting...right._

_Barley was used to his little brother being far lower energy than himself, and tried to adjust accordingly, wanting their playtime to last as long as possible before the younger became tired and wanted to go do a more relaxing activity._

_But this seemed a little different._

_Their Mother had been working busily downstairs on various things and he had elected they stay upstairs to stay out from underfoot, but after only an hour of play, Ian had begun to slow._

_His little face was turning flushed and he now sat against the bed in a kind of defeat, clutching his stuffed dragon ‘Scales’ to his chest as he watched his brother’s attempts to rouse him. His eyes were drooping. The unusualness of this was scary._

_“C’mon, Ian! You seemed fine when we came up here.” Barley’s eyes were creased with a well-founded worry, “...Couldn’t you bring out your inner warrior real quick?”_

_Ian turned his head away slightly in response, face scrunching up, “Barley, I’m gonna- I feel like I’m gonna throw up.” Then he whispered, more to himself, “...I want Mommy…”_

_Barley felt a sensation like ice spreading through his system, “Ian, you’re...you’re okay, alright?”_

_Because he had to be; his little brother COULDN’T get sick. That couldn’t happen. Ever. He’d made sure to take such good care of him all the time, what had he done wrong?_

_Cautiously, he pressed his hand against his little brother’s forehead, feeling how cool it was against the unnatural heat. He suddenly wanted to cry...but he couldn’t. Not yet, anyway. Grabbing a bunch of blankets, he pulled them firmly around Ian’s little body and helped him lay down, feeling suddenly clumsy and wrong._

_“Just lie here a sec, okay? I’m gonna get...Mom.”_

_“‘Kay…” Ian watched Barley with his tiny, trusting gaze._

_Barley didn’t like how horrible soft he sounded, and mentally kicked himself for not noticing this earlier. Ian had been quiet before they’d even gone upstairs and he hadn’t done anything about it._

_What a terrible big brother he was._

_Pushing open the door, he stumbled downstairs to find his Mom, tears beginning to form and fall the second he was out of Ian’s sight._

_She was pacing in the living room on the phone with the cord following her around like a curly snake, speaking to whoever was on the other end in a professional tone that he normally wouldn’t dare interrupt. At the moment, though, he couldn’t care at all about his own inhibitions. This was way more important._

_“Mom!” He choked out, darting over in front of her as he felt a kind of panic start to overtake him, “MOM.”_

_Laurel held out a finger gently to him and grimaced, not realizing the situation yet as she spoke into the receiver, “...Hey, could you give me just one second? Sure. Okay, thank you.” She wrapped a hand around the base of the phone, blocking the sound as best as she could as she turned her attention down to her oldest who looked like he was getting ready to explode,_

_“Barley, what-”_

_“-Mom, Ian’s not acting okay, I think he’s sick, and I didn’t even do anything and-and I DON’T KNOW HOW TO FIX IT. Please come help, PLEASE.”_

_The older elf jumped at the sudden raise in volume and quickly reached out to smooth her hands down his arms, the phone falling forgotten at her side, “Barley - Barley, it’s okay, Honey. You said he’s sick?”_

_Barley was clamping down hard on his bottom lip as tears spilled over his cheeks and he nodded furiously. It felt like he couldn’t breathe - the room was getting so dark and silent against the static whistling in his ears._

_“Honey, it’s okay! Let me just go see Ian; I’ve probably got some medicine for him.” Laurel was too tired to fully fathom why Barley was behaving so ecstatically, but it was almost contagious._

_That is, she didn’t get it until she stood and turned towards the stairs, only to find that a pair of small but firm arms immediately captured her left leg._

_A quiet, wet plea simply followed, muffled against the fabric of the jeans,_

_“...Mom, please don’t take him to the hospital._

_..._

_Please don’t.”_

\-------

Barley sat in his van, eyes idly scanning the now completely empty school lot. 

It was weird; if Ian had taken the bus, then he sure as hell hadn’t caught it. The little guy was hard to miss with his button up shirts and crop of curly hair that built like a small, controlled mountain on his head. Hard to miss to him, anyway.

No, something wasn’t sitting entirely right in his gut, and that thing had hardly ever led him astray. 

He glanced down at his phone, where his thumb hovered in uncertainty over Ian’s number, a sloppy selfie of the two of them filling up the background. His brother had firmly told him the other day that it bothered him when Barley called ‘all the time for no real good reason’. 

Which was totally understandable, really. Didn’t bother him at all. Nope….

but now he found himself hesitating to call for fear that he’d tick Ian off with an ‘unnecessary’ call. He huffed, deciding that his Mom would probably be upset if he WASN’T keeping track of his little brother. 

He tapped the call button.

_“...Yeah?”_

Barley beamed at the familiar voice, sitting up in the seat a little, “Hey there, brother O’ mine! Just wanted to make sure you got to the bus just fine, because I be-LIEVE that I missed you. My bad, completely!”

There was a pause on the other end, and Barley could swear that he was picking up on the distinctly compressed engine noises of a car instead of the roar of a bus underneath the sound of other kid’s voices.

Ian finally spoke up, like he was briefly trying to recite his words beforehand,

_“O-oh, yeah! No, I’m, uh...a group of my friends wanted me to, uh...hang out with them after school! So I’m just gonna do...that?”_

Barley’s brow furrowed, “Wait...I thought we were gonna do the history stuff I was setting up this morning? And since when did you have friends?” He tried to tease lamely, hoping this was some kind of weird joke on himself. 

Not finding that quip too funny, Ian sighed as he lowered his voice, _“Sorry, Barley; It’s just - no one EVER asks me to go do stuff with them, you know?”_

“Huh.” The older elf felt himself stiffen as he tried to control his frustration at the blatant rejection. His eyes darted across the dash, not sure where to look, “Well, that’s...some bad timing.”

 _“R-right?”_ Ian lightened, _”Look, I promise we can do that stuff some...other time.”_

Barley popped Guinnevere into ‘O’ for Onward and merged into the after school traffic, one hand laid tight on the wheel. He was desperately trying to swallow his feelings about this whole situation, because him getting upset wouldn’t make anything better,

“You at least gonna tell me who these new pals of yours are, buddy?”

A new voice, a little distant, called out over the line, _”Hey dude, c’mon, you’re missing out on some pretty hilarious what-if questions, here!”_

Ian called back, _”Yeah, sorry, just one second!”_

_”Who’re you talking to?”_

Barley tilted his head in confusion, something nagging at his memory in those voices.

_”Just my brother, real fast. I promise.”_

He decided to pipe up again at this little breakpoint, “Uh, little bro, is there someone named ‘Mistro’ there...by-chance?” 

Something still just felt off about this. Not about Ian having friends - because Ian was an amazing elf and deserved wheelbarrow after wheelbarrow of friends. But the problem was - his little brother had never been charismatic enough to get those friends (he’d grow out of it, of course), trapped in an anxious teenage prison who’s thoughts kept him either rudely quiet or plain odd when he DID try to open his mouth around others.

Always the first one to leave a busy room or the quickest to reject pretty much any outing...

...Which was why this struck such a chord.

Ian seemed relaxed as he spoke, _“Uh...actually, yeah! Mistro’s here. He said you knew hi-”_

There was a sudden jostling sound, his brother’s voice cutting out entirely followed suddenly by a windy crashing sound. It was LOUD, and split through Barley’s sensitive ears, forcing him to yank the device away in surprise.

“What the-!”

Brain spinning, he pulled it back and listened to various ‘whooshes’ of cars passing the phone...which now was no longer inside a vehicle but now obviously by some road, 

“H-HEY! Ian? What happened, buddy? Ian?!”

No answer. In seconds, he’d gone from disappointed to afraid, a cold but familiar feeling starting to creep its way through his chest. Part of him hoped desperately that that had been some kind of mistake; that Ian had just accidently dropped his precious phone that he would NEVER let out of his sight somehow through the window of a car and….

Who the hell was he kidding?

“Okay, oaky, breathe!” He instructed himself sharply, “You don’t gotta panic until you KNOW, Barley. C’mon, man, pull it together - he needs you.”

His throat had gone very dry and he turned the van sharply to head down another road. There was only a handful of places he knew Mistro and his group would hang after school…

...and Freyr help them if Ian was so much as scratched..


	4. Bad Times, Good Times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the year of Covid, I had no motivation to do anything but write and had to catch up on school the last few days, but hopefully we're back to regular posting now!
> 
> Let me know your thoughts on the chapters; I read and genuinely enjoy every little thing you guys say. ^^

An empty hand and an open window.

Ian Lightfoot did not have good reflexes, but then again not many people could possibly prepare themselves for this; His thumb had a slight scratch on it from where his device had been so suddenly yanked from him by the cyclops (named Arges) to his left and tossed out the top of the window before he’d barely had a chance to register.

He hadn’t put up much of a fight, really...just a weak and quick, “H-hey-!”

And then he’d fallen into an uneasy quiet as the rest of the older occupants of the vehicle exploded into talk and laughter like the world’s funniest joke had just taken place. Except he wasn’t in on it.

His confused eyes caught Mistro’s through the rearview mirror, but he wasn’t given any sympathy.

He cleared his throat in discomfort, pushing himself against the door he was closest to, “G-guys, hey, what’s going - why’d you do that?”

“Just relax, Lightfoot!” Mistro called back, still fixing him with a gaze that felt suspiciously threatening as his words dripped honey, “I know you’re the ‘little brother’, but can you man up for just a little bit? That possible for you?”

The vibrations of the vehicle were becoming jarring to his panicking system...because that hadn’t been a mistake. Everyone was staring at him eagerly, like a bunch of cats who had just stumbled onto a very stupid mouse and his chest was becoming tight. But he had to relax…

Surely there was some kind of confusion.

“Well, yeah…” He squeaked, barely even caring that his maturing voice was cracking so bad, “...but I just don’t get why...I mean, you ASKED me to come along…?”

“Phh, yeah, and here you are.” The purple elf turned the wheel, refocusing on the drive, “Look - you can just relax, because all we’re doing is checking out some ruins...and then we’ll come right back. Okay?”

Ruins. He should have expected that with these apparently being some of Barley’s past friends.

But why in the seven realms did they need HIM to be with them for this? He’d thought they were going to just bum around town for fun; sure, he was still himself and it would’ve been a little awkward, but he’d had a double opportunity to both miss out on a stupid Quests of Yore game AND make friends.

Obviously, something had gone wrong somewhere along the way. 

And Barley…

Hope sprung up in his chest as he weaseled himself further back into the seat, desperately tuning out the ridiculous hype the older kids were building. Barley HAD to know that everything wasn’t okay; he’d come! Maybe he knew these guys well enough to….

 _“Well, that’s...some bad timing.”_ Barley’s voice, slightly miffed and part disappointed, rang through his head.

Oh no.

He couldn’t have picked a worse time to dodge his brother’s attempts to hang out. What if he was upset enough to ignore the situation and just go home? The part of him that knew Barley told him his brother would never do that, but doubt reigned eternal. His grip on his arms tightened soothingly.

Maybe everything would be fine, anyway.

The car jerked a little, shaking him once again from his thoughts, as it bumped its way onto a gravel path and skiffed along towards a clearly visible stone structure peeking out in the distance. He’d never seen one so out of the way.

He twisted in place to try to get a better look.

“You recognize this one, Lightfoot?”

He eyed over at Arges, noticing that most of them were also staring at him. Like they were looking for some kind of reaction. This was...really funny to them, wasn’t it? The thought made him want to curl up like a pill-bug and hide; to make this just go away.

“N-no…” He admitted, squinting cautiously as he took a few extra glances out the window.

Mistro suddenly piped up loudly, “Heads up!” As the vehicle’s brakes slammed on, the seatbelt painfully crushed into his stomach when he was thrown forward. The rest of them seemed to have been bracing already, another round of laughter starting up; they had stopped at the side of the road, beside a well-wooded area which would probably be the only way to those ruins.

Then the doors swung open and everyone started to unload.

Ian didn’t move at first, understandably nervous about following these guys out into the woods in an undisclosed location.

Then Mistro casually walked over to his side of the car, clamping his keys onto a metal ring holder on the front of his jacket. The window was still down from when his phone had been thrown.

“You coming out, or am I gonna have to unbuckle you like a kindergartener?”

Ian felt a flush coming over his face. The older elf said it like it was a friendly joke, but he’d been pushed around enough to know the real tactic in this word choice. 

He was also at least 89% sure that Mistro would actually follow through if he didn’t comply.

Quickly slipping his hands over the lock, Ian mumbled out a quick, “N-no, I’m coming,” before pushing open the door and slowly sliding out.

Ian’s feet touching down on the ground felt like he’d just stomped out his last hope.

When he looked up, Mistro was giving him an overly-sympathetic expression that would have made him angry if he had any amount of grit at all. Instead he found himself staring back, passively searching for any kind of pity and hoping to communicate his nerves through his expression. 

It didn’t work. 

“You look like a kicked dragon puppy; c’mon, this’ll be fun if you’d just chill.” 

His arm was grabbed and before he knew it, they were making their way into the front lines of the forest.

Something about this was stirring a distant memory. His gut twisted.

\-----------------

_“Barley, lemme walk!”_

_Ian, now an independant little elf of seven years old, squirmed as his big brother trudged along the road back towards home, awkwardly holding him up under his arms._

_Barley was worrying at his lip, adjusting his hold every few minutes, “No way, you’ll run off and get lost!”_

_“I won’t! Let me go…” Ian pushed a little more fiercely, becoming supremely annoyed._

_At the last visible part of the long, mostly straight road, one could just make out the sight of two bikes. The bigger one propped up properly, and the smaller on its side with the chain broken._

_The true sentence of a dead bike._

_The older felt so dumb; he’d decided he was old enough to ride away from the house with Ian and it had been exciting...at first. He’d ridden slowly behind his little brother and pointed out all the landmarks while the other focused wholeheartedly on just keeping the bike upright._

_Once they’d gotten past the houses and into the more rural roads, there had been a gravel road which then led to a decline - No problem for experienced Barley, but Ian had panicked and taken the slope like a true warrior, whether he’d liked it or not._

_Long story short: Ian’s bike had taken a fatal tumble in the long grass at the bottom, and though there was only a scraped knee to account for the crash, it had given Barley a true heart attack._

_“Look, I TOLD you to stop!” Barley snapped, still shaken, “Why didn’t you listen?”_

_Ian had begun to whine at his lack of success in freeing himself and the slightly angry tone. It wasn’t as extreme as his brother’s had been, but he was at the annoying stage of testing EVERYTHING he was told. Even from his brother._

_And he’d assumed said brother was just trying to ruin his fun, before the hill had revealed itself._

_“I dunno, Barley…” He fussed, twisting his arms up, “I wanna go home! ‘Nd my ear hurts.”_

_With a weary sigh, Barley finally set him down and spun him around to assess the situation, “...Okay, your ear hurts because you still got your helmet on, silly.”_

_The headgear was jammed sideways from how he’d been held, bending one long ear down and the older unclipped it, swinging it over his arm to carry instead. Ian reached up to rub at the side of his head and Barley couldn’t help but feel like he deserved it just a little for scaring him so bad._

_“I wanna walk.” Ian then pouted, folding his arms incorrectly over his chest._

_The attitude was unwelcome and Barley tried hard to look authoritative - like Mom, “Okay, well you gotta hold my hand, then.”_

_Ian considered this compromise very briefly before whining out a soft,_

_“Nooo…”_

_Barley knew EXACTLY why his little brother was acting like this. He hadn’t had his usual nap, and he’d picked at lunch, refusing everything except the bits he actually wanted. Laurel had surprisingly relented and let him leave without finishing his plate...both things added together to make the cranky little kid he was looking at now._

_Their Mom had become so tired with time, and while Barley didn’t fully understand why, he had **noticed** ; she gave in a lot now when he knew she wouldn’t normally, so he’d tried to step up his role in the house in taking care of Ian. Well, as best as an eleven year old boy could._

_He snatched his little brother’s hand firmly and walked, practically dragging Ian along as the other dug his heels into the earth, “C’mon, Ian, we gotta get home.”_

_Barley had to take a deep breath when Ian collapsed on the ground, now literally letting himself be dragged._

_And he let him._

_Avoiding anything sharp along the way, that was._

_Until he felt his little brother’s free hand gently touch his ankle, just under his pant leg. The pair he was wearing was becoming too short as he was beginning to grow faster._

_He paused and blinked several times ahead, “Ian, what are you doing?” All his breath released wearily._

_“You got a...you hurt?”_

_“I...what?” Barley shifted to look to where Ian was now pointing._

_Oh, shoot. A still red scab, the ghost of a nasty cut, was visible and arched up the side of his left ankle. It wasn’t pretty, and he hadn’t shown it to anyone._

_Ian used the grip on his hand to pull himself to his feet, eyes creased in confusion, ‘Wha’ happened?”_

_Barley blinked a few times, considering, “If I tell you, you gotta promise not to tell Mom...and to actually walk with me.”_

_Ian nodded solemnly, readjusting his grip in his big brother’s._

_Okay, good._

_They started to walk again, the younger only now noticing how his brother was favoring his right side. Riding a bike must have hurt._

_“There’s a new kid at school.” Barley explained softly, starting to swing their hands in a gentle back-and-forth motion, “And he...I don’t know, he’s really mean for no reason. He told me I’m…”_

_Ian tilted his head at his big brother’s hesitation, “You’re what?”_

_The older’s gaze turned opposite as he took a larger breath, lilted with a wet sound, “...He said i’m too stupid and fat to be an elf.”_

_Uncertain, Ian wrinkled his nose._

_“Yesterday, he had something sharp taped to his shoes and he kicked me real hard at recess.” Barley finished quickly, dragging an arm across his face to dispose of any evidence, “I’m fine, though, it just hurt for a little bit.”_

_A quiet spanned between the two for a little bit, only the sound of gravel crunching under their shoes to accompany the expanse._

_“Barley…?”_

_The older looked down, a tight smile crossing his face to prove how okay he was, “Yeah?”_

_“I think you’re really smart and brave.” Ian sounded sad, like he just couldn’t understand how anyone could be so mean to his big brother. He added regretfully,, “...an’ I’m sorry for being mean, too.”_

_“Thanks, Ian.” The smile on his face became far wider, “And you’re **nothing** like Mistr- you’re nothing like him. Don’t worry.”_

_A quieter, “Love you.”_

_And a genuine “I love you, too.” back._


	5. Run, run, as fast as you can

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys don't mind me checking in with Barley! His involvement with this story was originally going to be very little, but I feel like he needs to be just as important of a part. 
> 
> Enjoy, and thank you for the reviews! I read and appreciate every one! ^^

Barley had taken a detour.

He didn’t WANT to, but his quick eye had caught a tiny but important thing just as he was crossing the underpass on his way to go guestimate where his little brother was - that being a little smart car he knew was always taken by a newer member of Mistro’s group.

He wasn’t a stalker; he was just observant.

Years of Quests of Yore with its ridiculous amount of ‘notice the detail or you die’ was to thank for that.

Once he’d yanked Guinnevere into a sloppy (and probably super illegal) U-turn, he pumped the gas to aggressively catch up to the pathetic little chariot.

“It’s GOTTA be Mistro…” 

He grumbled under his breath, face drawn down close enough to the wheel so that it would be a _really not good thing_ if he wrecked. Though the voice he’d heard could not be 100% identified over the phone, his gut was screaming at him that he’d known who that was, and…

“I always follow my gut.” He finished his thought aloud, firm.

Once behind the car, he laid on the horn and followed when it tried to move out of his way. It took only a few more of these maneuvers for him to grow frustrated that his message was not loud and clear.

Finally, he leaned out of his window and shook a fist, “Hey, pull OVER, asshole!”

He could see the driver’s beady little gremlin eyes staring at him through the rearview mirror, completely flabbergasted

But, reluctantly, it tipped off the main way and began a short trek towards a local parking lot. Perfect.

Barley tucked back inside, trying to calm the blood boil he was feeling as he followed. His ears twitched and heart leapt when the sound of his ringtone replaced the rushing wind. Hands scrambling, he lifted the device to the side of his head and allowed himself to hope.

“Ian?!”

_”You wish! You have any idea how fast you were going back there? What the HECK are you doin’ now, Barley?”_

Well, that was disappointing. It was Colt, who must have seen but chosen to call him personally instead of putting on the siren and giving chase because the centaur felt he ‘understood’ him, for whatever reason. It was a dumb rus, a thin veil to cover the obvious crush and desire to get close to the elf’s mother.

Disgusting, and it would totally never happen. His Mom was WAY out of anyone’s league.

“I’m handling it, Colt! Gosh, leave me alone and go munch a carrot.” He hissed into the receiver, not caring about fact-checking that one at the moment.

_”Son, you better smarten up right-”_

Something inside of himself flared as the vehicle came to a halt behind the other and he began to crawl out, “I AM NOT, and will NEVER BE your son!”

Then he hung up and slammed the door. Of course he knew that term was a weird southern slang, but it didn’t matter. He felt like some magic ticket Colt used to get close to Laurel; the guy was always on the lookout for his misbehaving so he could take him home and chat with her...and unfortunately, that waiting usually paid off.

But no doubt, the centaur was on his way here now.

He had to be quick. 

The gremlin stared at him in the throes of uncertain fury as he approached, rolling down the window to shout out, “What’s your PROBLEM, man?”

“Oh, what’s my PROBLEM? Tell me where your stupid friends took my little brother!” Barley stood just outside, easily dwarfing both car and creature. Folding his arms and showing off his gains the best he could, his spiked bracelet dug into his skin but he was too mad to care.

A pause, “...You mean Mistro?”

“Yeah, no duh. Where were they planning on going today that turned you coward?”

Said coward blinked several times, obviously perplexed about the whole situation. A scaly finger picked at the ‘start’ button on the car anxiously, “Did you chase me down to ask questions, or insult me?”

“Both - definitely,” Barley narrowed his eyes. This guy couldn’t decide whether to play tough guy or not and he didn’t appreciate the lac of direct answers, “And I got a banger of a **third** idea that involves me shoving this tiny car all the way up your -”

His head jerked sideways, peripheral picking up the distinct white and black of a police car that he knew too well. Colt was arriving far too soon for his liking. Shoot.

The gremlin made a whining noise suddenly, eyes bulging as he turned his head and also noticed, “C’mon, let me go, man! I got Pixaelium in here; if they find that on me, they’re gonna arrest BOTH of us!”

“You got-!” Barley stumbled back, shocked, “Where did you even GET that drug?!”

It was a wicked but ancient drug. Probably extra illegal, but he wouldn’t know as he’d done his damn best to avoid that stuff. Something else scattered through his mind as the other suddenly made direct and more meaningful eye contact with him, an unnerving ‘knowing’ where it hadn’t been before.

“...and _why?_ ”

Ears flopping, the gremlin hunched forward to start the car again, “Look, I don’t wanna be involved with anyone getting hurt. I think they said something about that Sacred Tree Temple near West Pike, or whatever it’s called. Now please, I gotta go!”

Barley waved him on numbly, bolting back to Guinnevere seconds later and mumbling, “The Temple of the Sacred Oak! I should’ve known that...” 

Just as Colt had reached the van and turned on his lights, it had taken off again. White smoke poured out of the tailpipe as it ate up the pavement and his jaw partially dropped at the open disrespect of not only himself (he could tolerate that), but the law.

“Oh, that is IT.” He yanked on the clutch and gave chase.

The kid had really given him no choice this time.

\----------------------

_Having a brand new brother was the most exciting adventure Barley could have ever asked for, and he’d embarked on the life-long quest of being an amazing big brother with boldness._

_Four (and a HALF - it was a big deal to him) Barley sat across from the baby, gently holding the tiny hands in his own and pulling them above his head and back to his knees, grinning at the giggles this elicited._

_“You laugh at everything!”_

_Their mother worked from home at the moment, and Barley was all too happy to take care of him when she was busy._

_Though, even when she wasn’t he begged for ‘his turn’ with Ian insistently._

_Ian paused in his play to yawn widely._

_“Aw, you bored?” Barley thoughtfully reached down to tap at the pajama-clad feet instead, “Yeah, me too. Lemme think of a new, **new** game.”_

_His eyes wandered to the table where he’d sloppily set up a ‘Quests of Yore’ game. The entire set had been gifted to him by his father, and though Ian was too little to play (he himself was close to being in the same boat), he already wanted his brother to somehow start experiencing the joys of fantasy._

_Pulling his legs underneath himself to carefully stand, he surveyed his surroundings. It only took a few seconds for him to come to a conclusion as his eyes landed on something particular._

_“Hey, Ian? ...You wanna fight a dragon in a real live dungeon?”_

_Ian looked up when a familiar word - his name - was said and squeaked happily, ear perking._

_“Yeah? Is that a yeah?” Barley’s heart fluttered excitedly, running around to grab Ian under the arms and drag him over beside the old family couch._

_He then made quick work of plucking the cushions away and building up a pretty impressive fort around Ian, who seemed content to just sit there and watch. The late day sun was lazily sloping across the room, setting the perfect mood for a dingy dungeon game._

_“Hmm...something’s missing.”_

_Barley stood back to take in his masterpiece, closing one eye and inspecting it like a craftsman._

_“Oh!” Snatching up a few of the embroidered throw pillows he’d previously discarded in a corner, he carefully stacked them on top of the ‘roof’ of the fort so it appeared to have a crest,_

_“...Okay, NOW we’re perfect.”_

_Ian ran his hands along the leafy pattern of a ‘wall’ of the fake dungeon, swiveling his head over when Barley appeared at the entrance, crouched down on one knee with his head bowed and hands extended, a rattle toy of the younger’s in care._

_“Sir Ian the...uh, Indigo.” He frowned; not too many things started with ‘i’ that he could think of, “Here’s your magic-making staff, m’lord. Put some fire in your heart and kill the dragon!”_

_Ian took the toy without understanding, excited to have it._

_So the great hero had accepted the challenge, “Great! I’ll go get the dragon!”_

_And Barley was off to get the new stuffed dragon his Mom had just gotten the younger a few days ago at Noble-Mart (upon his own request, of course). But no sooner had he gotten to his room, rescued the plush from drowning in a pile of laundry, and began his return when he heard what sounded like a surprised cry._

_From his little brother._

_Feet thumping on the wood floor, he ditched the dragon and rushed back into the living room._

_Oh. The fort had collapsed. A rush of both shame and panic flooded his system and he threw himself at the problem, tearing the cushions almost furiously away. Poor little Ian became visible underneath the mess, eyes wide and letting out soft and confused cries._

_“Lemme see, lemme see!” Barley picked his little brother up clumsily and set him to sit upright, finding his hands slightly shaking as he inspected him for any injury._

_Nothing._

_Barley let out a breath, chest squeezing because it was still his fault. And Ian was still crying, mostly startled._

_“Hey, buddy, shhh! Is’okay. You’re okay.” He muttered as he crudely parroted his Mother’s behavior whenever HE got hurt, dragging his entire hands across the tear-stained face...and wiping it on one of the pillows._

_That had been scary for a few seconds..._

_**Good thing that had just been a collapsing pillow fort and not anything actually dangerous.** _


	6. Darker Days Ahead and Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the Chapter where things really start to get moving! Thank you guys for your patience; I'll be back after finals!

In the future, Ian would be told by a stranger on his sixteenth birthday that his father had been ‘bold’ and would then build his day meticulously around that statement, striving to fight through his steel-wall comfort zone to be a part of what the man had lived...

But Sir Iandore of an early fourteen years could barely even order his own food at a restaurant without wanting to curl up on the floor and puke.

And so the young elf could do nothing for himself as he was dragged stumbling through the brush of the woods, stomach churning and chest aching with how hard he had started to suck in his breaths. Mistro’s hold was unyielding and he was afraid to even try to pull away.

“Hey! I got my sights on it!” Arges pointed ahead.

The older teenagers were having a great time; picking up random ‘cool’ things they found - sometimes to keep and sometimes to throw just to hear the sound of the object bouncing off the trees (sorry, random snail that had looked like a rock). There was lots of laughter, too.

It almost made Ian feel like there was nothing wrong. Or wish there wasn’t.

But there was.

“You ever been here, Ian?”

Eyes jumping to Mistro’s when he addressed him, Ian stuttered out, “O-oh...uh, no. Not really.”

“Not even with Mr. Big Brother?” Mistro’s lip curled into a strange smile and he adjusted his grip to get a better look at the his face, “I know he’s been here a million times - there’s no way you haven’t been even once.”

But Ian shook his head numbly, not sure why this elf was trying to make everything so personal. Had Barley...done something to tick this guy off? The thought struck hard.

Oh, Shantar’s tavern. His words were falling out of his mouth before he had time to register them,

“L-look, if Barley said...I mean, if he did anything to upset you, I’m really sorry! But I don’t - I don’t even really _know_ you guys, so pl-please...” 

Pleading was suddenly an option again, and he found his heels automatically digging into the ground the second the ancient rock of the ruins peeked its ugly might through the flora. He’d lost his nerve for about the millionth time.

“Cold feet again? Come on, Lightfoot, where’s your dumbass sense of adventure?” Mistro was obviously making cruel light of Barley’s affection for this kind of stuff. He looked back at the others, who had paused when they had stopped, “You guys go on; we’ll be there in half a minute.”

They moved on without much question.

Ian popped open his mouth to try to protest again as he leaned away, arm carrying his entire weight through the hold. His earth-bound feet were turning him into a decent anchor in the sea of fine dirt surrounding them, when the older elf abruptly let go of his arm.

With a soft gasp, he toppled to the ground, “-ow!”

But it QUICKLY turned into a much more heartfelt and panicked, “-ow, OW, H-HEY!” When the hand that had been holding his arm suddenly grabbed one of his sensitive, pointy ears and forcefully yanked him back up to his feet. Something elf-kind really didn’t do to each other...for obvious reasons.

Ian found himself practically standing on his tip-toes as he struggled to lighten the painful pull that was now past his own height, head crooked at an angle as he was stared down by Mistro.

He blinked several times, tears pricking in betrayal at the edges of his vision.

“Listen up, you scrawny little crawler; the harder you throw all of this off, the worse it's gonna be for YOU. Not me. You.” He twisted the ear slightly and Ian whimpered, “So you’re gonna do yourself a favor and come with us, be a part of the gang, and take some stupid risks without being a baby every couple of minutes. Got it?” 

Ian almost nodded, before catching himself and instead squeaking out, “Okay…”

Because what else could he say? He’d heard of this kind of terrifying stuff happening to people, but in the moment it felt surreal, like he was overreacting.

He’d been often told that he ‘freaked out’ over nothing...but this didn’t feel like nothing.

The older elf’s smile turned sweet again but his eyes remained squinted; it created a disingenuous expression that soothed not even a single frayed nerve, “Glad we’re getting it. Way to clue in, Ian.” 

Thankfully his ear was freed, but his arm once again became a prisoner instead. Ian placed his free hand gingerly against the aching appendage and followed without fight; he was scared, hurting a little now, and his will to attempt escape had just been all too easily snatched away.

He couldn’t even be mad at Barley if he was the one who had ticked this guy off.

Because...he wanted his big brother now so badly. 

If only he’d just gone home and played that game with him. At the moment, he found himself wanting to be a part of that safety and comfort so badly, even if it would have been boring. Or weird. Or anything.

ANYTHING but this.

“Hey, we're here.” The voice startled him from his reverie.

They'd already pushed their way through the last of the brush and he was taking the ruins all in. Typical Old Realm-era design with curves and carvings decorating every visible part, the entire frivolous structure crouching under the weight of its years. It was beautiful...in a dilapidated sort of way.

Arges grinned at them, pointing a large finger towards the entrance, “Okay, that’s definitely new!”

A few large chunks of stone sat there bunched together, blocking easy access inside unless someone would be dumb enough to crawl over them. Ian swallowed thickly, hoping this wouldn’t go any further.

Mistro suddenly let go of him and he stared blankly at his freed arm. The other elf stood close, though, reminding him somehow that he didn’t have anywhere to go. Their location wasn’t even a place he’d recognize, so why in the Third Realm would he run off?

“You’re still way too tense, Lightfoot.” Mistro observed smoothly, reaching into his jacket, “What’re you so scared of, anyways?”

Well, that seemed like a pretty unfair question.

“I don’t know...y-you…?”

Honesty wasn’t always the best policy, but he felt like this guy KNEW he was scaring him. Maybe even liked it.

The smirk he received confirmed that hypothesis.

Ian averted his eyes and fiddled with his sleeves, anxious, “I-I just wanna go home…” He admitted softly.

“Cute.” Mistro sniffed, finally pulling… _something_ out of his pocket and slipping it into his mouth, right under his tongue, “Well, probably not today. Maybe tomorrow, though.”

Ian felt even colder, if that was possible.

“So - down to business.” The older elf guided him toward the ruins, barely even placing a hand on his back to get him to move, “Your brother opened his dumbass mouth and told us there was some kind of treasure in here, according to legend. The problem? It’s too dangerous to go in, and we’re all too big to fit down some of those passageways without disturbing something.”

He wanted to cry.

“Anyway-” Dragging him up until they were facing off against the stones guarding the entrance, Mistro was now beaming an ugly smile, “-We don’t know if the treasure’s even REAL, so it would be stupid for any of us to go in. Instead, you’re gonna be our little search dragon and sniff us out a treasure. And you’re not leaving until we get SOMETHING.”

There was a tense quiet in the air, the rest of the group watching with bated breath. The younger elf once again felt like a play-thing; just an entertainment option for a bunch of bored, terrible teenagers.

They still thought this was funny.

“B-but…” Embarrassingly, his words were almost blubbering out, throat constricting with frightened tears, “What if I get...what if something bad happens?” His vision was locked into the black mow of the innards, past the stones, which was waving an ominous ‘see you soon’ to him.

“Aw...don’t be scared! I brought you a new best friend to keep you company in there; he’ll make you feel invincible.” 

That wicked smile didn’t comfort Ian at all. Also, he was about 98.9% sure there was no new ‘best friend’ because he wasn’t five and that was stupid.

He winced when his hand was grabbed and felt the other’s cold fingers press into his palm. When they retracted two small, violet pellets lay there instead like a pair of dangerous eyes staring into his soul.

Ian wasn’t stupid. He didn’t know exactly what these were, but they screamed bad, definitely not good news. He felt like he was shaking, all the way to the tips of his ears when he looked back up.

“Just stick them in your mouth, brainiac. It’s not that scary.” Mistro pressed. And good grief, did making eye contact make Ian want to choke. The whites of the other’s eyes seemed to be bleeding a gentle purple from the corners, flooding towards the center slowly. 

His heart pounded inside of his chest and he numbly shook his head, moving the hand to throw the pills instead. But, lightning quick, it was snatched up and they were taken back.

Mistro looked annoyed now, probably because his precious product had almost been tossed, “Jitters, huh? Guess this is going down the hard way.”

“N-no! I don’t want t-!” But he had only seconds to move, and had not taken one to do so.

Before he could even think, a pair of large, pink hands had grabbed his arms from behind and forced them to his side as the other elf shoved those _things_ into his mouth before he could think to close it, a palm clamping over it right after to keep him from spitting them out.

He gagged underneath, the overpowering flavour that only be described as grapes and lightning washing over him. Only a few seconds later, he could feel that they had dissolved, a slushy paste replacing them which was quickly being either washed back down his throat or absorbed.

When the hand finally let go (it felt like an eternity), he gasped and tried to spit, but like magic the remains of the pills had disappeared,

“I-I-I-...I don’t want them! I can’t-!”

“Hey, hey, hey! Just relax and let them do their thing.” Mistro advised kindly, grabbing his shoulders to turn him towards the entrance again.

Ian felt clammy already, vision sparking at the edges and distorting the dark in the ruins. Distant feelings were beginning to creep and call from the back of his mind, an odd sensation. Somehow, it also felt good. Like he was being congratulated for existing. 

His thoughts were also beginning to blur together, a symphony becoming a single note.

Something was terribly wrong.

He barely even noticed that he’d been lifted and set inside until his feet scraped the ground.

The walls themselves now seemed to be moving, twisting. A beautiful and colorful pattern that made the stress in his shoulders melt away in what felt like an instant. Cautiously, he was moving with it all, slanted mind adoring the way the structure flowed and wanting to go with it. To be a part of it. 

The dark was far more inviting than the intensity of the light outside, anyway.

“-ou got this, Ian!...” Mistro’s voice floated, somewhere far away...

...but he didn’t look back. 

\-----------------

_Barley moved through the playground at recess, the nine year old searching for something to entertain himself._

_A fascinating stick, just sitting there like a free toy that no one wanted, was today’s target. It was snatched up and held it out like a mighty sword… because right now in his mind it totally was._

_His little viking helmet almost fell off his head, but he steadied it quickly._

_“It is I! Barley Lightfoot; defender of justice and slayer of all evil!” He cried ecstatically, not noticing if any other kids or supervisors were staring, “Who dares challenge me?”_

_Squinting around, he locked eyes with a shrub and raced to it, “Ah-HAH!”, Swiping his stick wildly into its poor branches. The child was packed full of explosive energy that few could contain or even wanted to touch, and he had become very used to making his own fun._

_He was out of breath after a bit of this, though, and noticed when he slowed that someone was standing a little closer nearby than what was normal. He paused, looking over his shoulder._

_It was a purple elf with dark hair, about his own age. Mistro Corpus._

_One of the ones who knew everyone but got along with few. Who teachers would mumble quietly about...claiming him a ‘troublemaker’ of sorts. It had never deterred him._

_“Uh...hello!” Barley piped, spinning around. His cape didn’t entirely follow, and he had to quickly free himself from becoming a burrito._

_Mistro’s face scrunched slightly, “Why didn’t you tell me your Dad left?”_

_It felt like the gears in his brain stopped moving for a second as he struggled to entirely grasp what had just been said so unexpectedly. He swallowed, proceeding after a beat,_

_“I mean...why would I wanna tell you…?”_

_The other shrugged, eyes downcast, “Mine left, too. I just thought it was cool that we had something alike.”  
Cool. That was the word he’d just chosen to use._

_Barley felt a bit of fire in his small chest suddenly and he narrowed his eyes, “Wait, did you say left? Like, left your family?”_

_With a small nod, Mistro glanced up, “Yeah, he packed his stuff and left. I haven’t seen him in, like, a few years.”_

_Something aggravating picked at his mind and he dropped his stick harshly in the dirt. This conversation was unexpected, but there was no manual on the planet that could prepare a child like Barley on how to deal with or respond to it._

_Something was rising indignantly inside of him, and he had zero problems letting it out._

_“Then we’re nothing alike, okay?” He bit out, pulling his helmet off and feeling betrayed somehow._

_Mistro glanced back sharply, seeming surprised through some hurt._

_Barley continued, factually but with a dash of spite thrown in,_

_“See - my Dad, he…” A lump formed in his throat but he pushed it down, the anger only making it possible, “He got sick and that’s why he left. He didn't have a **choice.** ”_

_He pointed a little accusingly at Mistro, refusing to think through his words before they tumbled out of his mouth._

_“But YOUR Dad left on **purpose** because he didn’t wanna be around you guys anymore. Okay?” Then he stomped past, ignoring whatever expression was on the other elf’s face, “So no; we’re not anything alike and I don’t ever wanna hear that again, Mistro.”_

_Better days between the two would never come._


	7. Getting Closer, Every Minute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Checking back in on Barley! I don't know if you guys can tell, but he's fighting some major anxiety in this chapter.
> 
> Also, I WANT to write some flashback very chapter, but sometimes I worry it gets tiresome for you all to read. Then again, if I'm writing it I should enjoy it too, so I'll keep it up. I am SO curious about the intricacies of Ian and Barley's past and what's made them who they are; you guys have no idea.
> 
> Thank you guys for being here! I always read and love your comment <3

“Eat Guinny’s DUST, Colt!”

Barley knew he was in major trouble with the law now, but he really could care less. His trusty steed- er, van, was popped into fifth gear and it swung through the streets and around other unsuspecting vehicles like a champion, every traffic law in existence expertly ignored.

His gaze flickered constantly between the rearview mirror and the road, keeping the officer who was trying to keep up in check as well as what was happening on the road. 

A crash would make everything worse; he didn’t intend to do that at all.

 _“This is the Poli-.....Barley Lightfoot, this is Officer Colt Bronco, and I need you to pull over IMMEDIATELY!”_ The blaring demand issued from the cop car cut over the rushing wind, but it didn’t deter him.

Rather, it fueled the fire in his belly as he hissed to himself, “I am NOT choosing you over my little brother, you old windbag.”

Then his attention was caught as his destination revealed itself; a pass into the woods on the incoming side of traffic, and a convenient shortcut to it. 

Well, here went nothing.

The wheel was twisted sharp and cut through the grassy in-between portion, gas pumping as the van only briefly touched down on concrete once more before breaking onto a gravel road. Luckily, there had been no cars coming. Pebbles and bits of sticks churned noisily underneath, rattling him all the way from his fingertips to his teeth.

That should earn him a bit of time. But he was getting closer now, and his nerves were refusing to be calmed. Or his mind quieted.

He had no idea what Ian could be going through right now.

That was the worst part.

“I’m coming, buddy; I promise. I’m gonna be there, I’m gonna be there…” He found himself repeating that phrase, as though the younger elf could hear and be comforted by it somehow.

From there it felt like an eon of crunching road and being thrown around the vehicle like a single popcorn kernel in a bag, the high of adrenaline beginning to almost uncomfortably cool off. His stomach started to twist as the possibility of being… _wrong_ about where Ian was violently struck and sunk its ugly fangs into his head. 

No, no, no, no…..but…..

…..What if- what if- what if- what if- what if-

Ah-hah! There was a beat of pure relief, and his heart squeezed.

Another car was parked up ahead, almost parallel from where he knew the temple to be. And he could recognize the make or model of that miserable thing anywhere. The doors were swung open, visibly empty through the glass window in the back. 

Excellent. Guinnevere could and would proudly take this.

He revved the engine as he got closer, and-

“ONWARD, GUINNEVERE!”

A hideous CRASH of steel on steel, and he’d rammed his van into the back of the car, throwing it forward as its back-end was instantly audibly totalled. Cheap car: 0. Tough Van: 1. 

Barley had been bracing himself, but the law of physics still had him jarring forward with the impact and clacking his chin off the wheel. It still felt so GOOD, though. Freeing. This victory did, however, cost a few seconds as the initial daze took as long to clear up as the cloud of dust expelled, and he gingerly pressed his hand to his face.

“It’s okay; that’s for worrying about later, man.” He mumbled, placing a reassuring pat on the sore spot.

Just as he’d clumsily disembarked and stumbled closer to the woods to begin his quest, the familiar police siren broke through the whistling in his long ears. Expecting to see the suspect at the end of the road, he turned to look but found to his shock that Colt was pulling up nearby already.

He bit his lip, “Great.”

The centaur looked...horrified, if that was right. The disturbed expression painted onto his face as he yanked himself from the custom car was as satisfying to Barley as it was threatening to this mission.

“Son- BARLEY, you’re gonna tell me right now what it is you think you’re doing?!” Colt stomped towards him, “Do you have ANY idea how many violations of the law you’re in accordance with right now?”

Immediately, Barley bunched his fists up to his sides, fingernails digging in as he struggled not to retreat, “No, Colt! You don’t understand-”

“You’re darn right I don’t! I’m taking you down to the station for a full testimony of this nonsense!” The centaur’s hoof was upchucking chunks of dirt in irritation. 

And the clock was still ticking, “Let me talk! I need you to-!”

“You NEED help, is what you-”

“WOULD YOU JUST LISTEN TO ME!?” And his voice had broken.

The desperation - the frustration - in his tone hung on, sifting through the trees before bouncing back to them softer. Colt had frozen, ears flicking in bewilderment.

There was a strange pause, before the older man tore off his sunglasses. Barley felt himself almost heaving for air again, leveling a bitter stare at the cop now that they could make proper eye contact. The sentiment wasn’t returned.

Rather Colt seemed cautiously sympathetic now, shifting back on his haunches in a less aggressive stance as he conceded, “...Al-alright.”

He’d gotten his moment, now he just had to...not screw it up. 

Barley took a steadying breath, pointing at Mistro’s car as he half-pleaded, “Look - I know I’ve told all kinds of stupid lies to slip charges, but-but _please_ ; those guys got Ian, they’re all out here somewhere, and I gotta find him!”

The information seemed to be processing, and Colt’s confusion doubled, 

“That doesn’t...that’s a pretty big accusation you’re makin’, right there, Barley.” He adjusted his belt, observing the frantic twitches of the elf as his own mind worked as quick as it could through what could be a crisis situation. Finally, he huffed, “Alright, here’s what we’re gonna do, since I can’t verify what the hell’s actually goin’ on here.”

He had Barley’s full attention, just like that. So he continued,

“I follow you into the woods a little ways, we check your story, and then - no matter what goes down today - we’re gonna run you to the station after for a bit to see what’s what. We clear?”

The centaur approached Barley further, and the large elf grimaced. That didn’t sound like a wonderful plan to him, but he was willing to make zero arguments if it meant getting to Ian faster.

“Crystal.” He bit out, “Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta find my _brother._ ”

Colt being here was NOT ideal, but having an officer to witness this might...make the entire situation better in the long run. Also considering that the old centaur could have just tried to haul him off immediately without listening, he HAD to give him credit way, deep, down in the back of his mind.

Barley trotted into the thick of the woods, ignoring the cop entirely as he focused on his own way through; and tried not to stumble every few seconds.

“You...get a little bump in that crash, boy?”

Now he was pretending to be worried about him. The elf scowled back, reaching to hold his hat in place when a branch snatched for it, “Yeah, it’s a battle scar. Keep your hooves outta my business.”

There was an exasperated snort in reply, the centaur easily navigating through the wilderness behind him, “Kid, I’m just makin’ sure you’re alright! You got me worried." Another short pause, "...You sure you didn’t take a little something earlier today?”

“For Freyr’s sake- I’m NOT high or drunk, Colt! What do I look like?”

“A punk, to be frank.” The awkward chuckle told him that it was a really weak attempt at some kind of joke.

Barley didn’t grace him with another response because his throat was already getting tight and talking more might make it worse. He just wanted Ian back and safe and oh gosh - what if he was really scared? What if they hurt him? 

And what kind of big brother would ever let this happen?

\-------------------------

 __  
“But I wanna play too, Barley!”

_Ian’s plea fell on deaf ears as the seven year old was gently rounded into the house through the back screen doors._

_The little voice was so sweet, and there was nothing in the world that sounded greater, but Barley remained strong, “No, you gotta stay in here this time. Trust me.”_

_Once inside, they faced each other as Ian began to knead at the base of his shirt, “But, why?”_

_Two unfamiliar kids stood outside, waiting and watching. The taller of them, with dark hair, was scowling at Ian like he was ruining everything and he ducked his head down slightly when they briefly made eye contact. He had really wanted to join in, especially since his brother had friends over this time, but apparently that wasn’t going to be the case._

_Barley sighed, disappointed himself, “Just...because. They play rough.”_

_“But-but I can do that too!” The dragon-puppy eyes widened._

_The older shook his head more firmly, crossing his arms to try to get the importance of him saying ‘no’ across to his little brother. Because this was super important; he truly didn’t want Ian mixing with these new friends._

_They could be mean sometimes and HE could take it, but he wouldn’t let it happen to Ian. Not ever._

_“No, you stay inside! I’ll play anything you want when we’re done if you do, okay?”_

_Ian looked melancholy, ears drooping as he realized that he wasn’t going to get his way this time. He finally relented with a small pout, “...’Kay.”_

_“Alright, thank you! I’ll be back in a bit, just...go do something else for a little while.” Barley leaned forward to give the smaller elf a hug, frowning when his ‘precious’ little brother arched away from the affection, “Fine, you can be like that. I love you anyway, sourpuss.”_

_He placed a sloppy kiss on his brother's cheek, grinning when it did the trick as Ian flung his arms and let out a whiny, “Ewww, Barley!”_

_“Yeah, yeah, deal with it.” Barley closed the glass doors, shouting through it, “Until then - begone with you, Sir Ian!”_

_Ian smiled a little as he dragged an arm across his face. Well, that was that; it was gonna be a waiting game now, unfortunately. He took a few steps back, about to scurry off to visit with Blazey...but the appeal of that didn’t click like it usually would._

_Being nosy clicked, though._

_He moved to sit partially behind the curtains in front of the glass (to stay mostly hidden from sight), eyes peeking out to watch his big brother have fun without him. His fingers twisted gently into the shag carpeting beneath him. It was comforting._

_Instead of feeling jealous, though...Ian found himself confused._

_Sure, they were playing and wrestling around, but Barley kept getting shoved around more harshly than what he’d expect. It didn’t look particularly...fun. His brother would smile and move on, but the others kept laughing at him._

_They couldn’t be good people. Good people didn’t do that._

_Ian was certain in his young mind that he would have been crying or running to his Mom several times over by now if anyone was doing any of these mean-spirited things to him._

_“H-hey…”_

_He cringed when they had finally gotten Barley on the ground, the one with dark hair immediately shoving a handful of dirt against his nose and mouth. His big brother gagged and twisted, getting away to spit and rub the earth out of his system._

_And...the others were laughing all over again._

_Ian didn’t miss the hurt expression that momentarily played on Barley’s face before a nervous grin replaced it. The one with dark hair patted him on the head, talking in an overexaggerated manner, before helping him up._

_The tussling continued on, but Ian found that he wasn’t interested anymore._

_“Barley likes...uh…” He stood and ran to his brother’s room instead, face scrunched in determination as he lifted the box of ‘Quests of Yore’ figures he coveted so much and clumsily began to set them up on a map Barley had shown him earlier, which sat on the floor._

_Afterwards, he would sneak an apple from the kitchen and place it where he wanted him to sit; they were one of his brother’s favourite snacks._

_And yes -_

_They WOULD play later._

_They would sit here for hours, laugh genuinely, play Barley’s favourite game in the world and forget about absolutely anything bad._

_Ever._


End file.
